


lines

by tanyart



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 15:32:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19444339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: One of Drifter's rules.





	lines

**Author's Note:**

> ShinDriftWeek - Day 1: Protect
> 
> (A late entry.)

It’s been a long time since Drifter’s taken a bullet for anyone. He’s not about to start now.

The Renegade falls to a hail of plasma and swirling dark ether. He fights like a monster, tooth and nail against the Scorn, but even a crazy bastard like him can be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

It’s kinda what Drifter has always thought about Shin Malphur — can never outshoot the guy, but you sure as hell can get enough people to pull the trigger on him at the same time. With a gun like Malfeasance...

Well. He’d have to actually finish making the gun first. Maybe he’ll give a prototype to the Renegade to try out.

Drifter lets out a slow, steadying breath. He takes a peek from behind the boulder, spotting the Renegade’s corpse not too far from him. The plasma hasn’t disintegrated the body yet. A wavering light blinks warily in Drifter’s direction, the Renegade’s Ghost tucked beneath the crook of his limp arm.

Drifter shrugs at it. What, did they expect him to have helped? Fat chance.

He’s teamed up with guys who get on his case about not being backup. Ones who don’t last long on the field, ones who don’t see the best plan might sometimes be getting your ass behind some tables. Being brave don’t count for much if you end up being too brave and dead in the dirt.

The noise dies down. The gunfire sputters off, mostly the Scorn needing to reload. Heart pounding, Drifter darts out.

He makes a grab for the Renegade’s ghost, stuffs it into his robes, and almost trips over the Renegade’s hand cannon to get away again. Out of habit, Drifter snatches this gun from the ground before he ducks back behind his rock. Thankfully, none of the Scorn think to come after him, not after the fight the Renegade put, but that particular ruse isn’t going to last for long.

Still, Drifter doesn’t initiate a resurrection. He waits until the Renegade can resurrect himself, the whole thirty seconds. The Renegade’s Ghost wiggles out from his robes, glaring, but it’s got its little flippers full resurrecting the Renegade before Drifter can tell it off.

It takes a moment — the Renegade flashes back to life. His corpse disappears, meters away, and his new body plops right in front of Drifter, almost but not quite, in his lap.

Drifter scrambles back. The last thing he wants is Renegade parts transmatting through him. Resurrections still freak him out, and the Renegade appearing close enough that Drifter can taste the Light on his tongue freaks him out even _more_.

The Renegade’s helmet turns to him, taking a quick assessment of the situation; Drifter, the rock, their cover, and the Scorn still shooting at them.

“Thanks,” he says, misinterpreting it all. Assuming things.

Drifter snorts. He tosses the Renegade’s cannon back at him before the Renegade can lean any closer.

“You owe me, hotshot,” he says, dismissive, and points to the hand cannon instead. “What kinda gun is that? It’s shit. Some random piece you looted off a dreg?”

The Renegade pauses. Then, he shrugs. “S’not my usual gun.”

“Well, this ain’t no time for givin’ yourself a fun challenge. Where is it?” Drifter demands.

The Renegade considers. “Don’t think you’ll like the answer.”

Something about the Renegade’s tone sounds amused. It grates. It’s not like they have a dozen or so Scorn waiting to pounce on them where the Light is thin. Drifter grabs the Renegade’s hand cannon back, and he’s half-surprised the Renegade let him have it.

“If you think fighting out there with a shit gun is fun, you’re fuckin’ nuts,” Drifter snaps. He starts taking apart the gun — and he really means it too — just dismantles the thing between them, throwing out each part on the dirt.

The Renegade staring at him in mute shock is only a little bit satisfying, but hell if Drifter will ever admit it.

The hand cannon gets laid out, and Drifter slaps on some new mods — bigger mag, slimmer barrel, a revolving piece that doesn’t fucking _stick_ when reloading. A more sensitive trigger would’ve saved the Renegade from a waste of Light in the first place.

“You like firing from the hip, don’t you?” Drifter asks, angry enough that he’s snapping parts together with vicious clicks. “Don’t lie. You look like an idiot. That ol’ gun wasn’t meant for it.”

The Renegade bristles. “I killed most of ‘em, didn’t I?”

“Next time,” Drifter says, rigging a slapdash hip-fire grip mod, “you get a better gun and kill _all_ of them.”

It’s a mismatched mess, but the gun’s better for it. He tosses it back to the Renegade, who takes up the gun without hesitation. Another surprise.

The Renegade spins it in his hand, like that’s any real test of quality. Drifter wants to punch him.

The Renegade turns it this way and that, inspecting it. “It’s hideous.”

One of Drifter’s hands actually curl into a fist. “So make an ornament later.”

The Renegade pops up to his feet, looking out to the Scorn. Finally ready to start working again. “Nah, I like it,” he says, and glances back at Drifter. “You keep down low, yeah?”

Drifter’s glad that the Renegade’s visor is all up in dust, too dirty to see his own reflection. He isn’t sure what his expression would’ve been. He feels like he’s crouching lower, like he’s embarrassed. “S’what I’ve been doing, pal,” he mutters.

“Alright,” the Renegade says, nodding. “Might need you to protect me again.”

If possible, Drifter’s muttering becomes even more touchy. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go dying then.”

Not that the warning matters — the Renegade takes off. He doesn’t die this time.

And Drifter will still never take a bullet for anyone, but he’ll settle for making them instead.


End file.
